


The Perfect Mistake

by cutiecub3



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:07:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27518131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cutiecub3/pseuds/cutiecub3
Summary: You thought you were one of a kind, until you're partnered with Spencer Reid for your chemistry term project.Basically, you hate him until you don't.Loosely based on the song "The Perfect Mistake" by Cartel.
Relationships: Spencer Reid/Reader
Kudos: 20





	The Perfect Mistake

**Author's Note:**

> This is my NaNoWriMo project (that I started 10 days late), probably won't end up being 50,000 words, but we'll see. Also, I had to teach myself about chemistry to write this, but I'm obviously not a chemist, so if you know more or better than I do, I sincerely apologize. 
> 
> ALSO! If you're reading on Google Chrome, download this extension to replace Y/N and Y/L/N with your first and last name. it makes it feel a lot more personal, I promise! I use it literally all the time. Unfortunately, it only works on a computer (as far as I know), but it's soooooo nice.  
> https://chrome.google.com/webstore/detail/word-replacer-ii/djakfbefalbkkdgnhkkdiihelkjdpbfh?hl=en

My eyes scanned over the list of names on the attendance sheet. Thirty-two students. More than expected for an advanced nuclear magnetic resonance spectroscopy class. The other students were much older than you, most likely taking it for their graduate programs. Little did they know, this twenty-year-old girl had already completed her doctorates in psychology and linguistics, and was currently working on a doctorate in chemistry. 

A small smile teased my lips. I scribbled my name down and passed the paper to the man to my right. 

“Oh, thanks,” he said glancing up quickly then back down. He looked up at me again, a condescending smile on his face. 

He leaned over to me and said, “I’m Craig.”

I kept my eyes ahead on the board that read “Welcome!” 

He cleared his throat. “This is the advanced NMR spectroscopy class.”

I turned my head to look at him, careful to control my expression, keeping it neutral. I slowly took in his appearance. A rumpled short-sleeve button-up, half-tucked into his khaki pants, complete with a pair of Nike tennis shoes. My eyes slowly made their way back to his face, taking in his smug expression that seemed to grace the face of every man who attended this school. 

My eyes narrowed. “Yes.”

His eyebrow lifted, but the smugness remained. “You’re taking an advanced nuclear magnetic resonance spectroscopy class?”

“Obviously,” I said. 

“Wow, ok. No need to be rude about it.” He turned to pass the attendance sheet to the man next to him, not even bothering to lower his tone to talk about me.

I reached into my bag to pull out a notebook and a pen, laying them on the top of my desk. I began to study the other students in the class. Out of the thirty-two students, there were four girls, including myself, leaving twenty-eight testosterone-fueled bodies to oggle at us. As women attending MIT, we were used to it. At least, it was safe to assume they were used to it because I had been used to it since the second day of classes. Men would constantly talk down, talk over, and talk about us, invalidating us as much as they could in order to stroke their egos.

No matter. I knew I could knock them down much more than a few pegs. 

My eyes found themselves on a young man sitting on my left, across the aisle. He couldn’t be much older than me (Technically, the use of I would be grammatically correct, but usage shows that more people would use me in this situation, making it acceptable in informal situations). Probably twenty or twenty-one. His hair was wavy, brown, and looked like it hadn’t been touched since he woke up. It was unruly, to say the least. He was flipping through a book, seemingly looking for a specific page. But when I looked closer, I saw his finger sliding down the center of each page. 

He was reading. The same way I do. 

My head tilted, trying to get a better look at him when our teacher cleared his throat.

“Hello, everyone. Welcome to Advanced Nuclear Magnetic Resonance Spectroscopy.” 

I watched as the book boy hurried to put his book back into a new leather messenger bag. It had a grainy look to it, marking it as real leather. Probably an expensive purchase, at least a hundred and fifty dollars, but more likely closer to two-fifty. 

“I recognize a lot of you from previous classes,” he continued. Dr. Borisov taught me last semester when I tested out of the introductory classes, taking seven of his advanced chemistry courses instead. 

“However, there are a few of you I don’t recognize.” He stopped in front of book boy’s desk. Book boy was so focused on squeezing his book into his already full bag, he didn’t notice. Dr. Borisov tapped his knuckle on the desk twice, and the boy jumped, his eyes wide at the white-haired and weathered professor in front of him. 

“What is your name?” The doctor asked, eyes twinkling in a teasing manner.

“Uh- Spe-” The boy’s voice cracked, the volume and pitch emphasizing the discomfort already clear from his face. He cleared his throat and tried again, eyes lowered. 

“Spencer Reid.” He looked up. “Sir.”

The doctor nodded, turning back to the whiteboard up front. 

“Ahhhh, our resident genius.” My brows furrowed. I was the resident genius. That wasn’t arrogance, simply fact. I had completed my first doctorate in psychology at Georgia Tech when I was sixteen while still living with my parents. Didn’t have much of a life besides learning, but I preferred the company of books that I could read over people I could not. Learning about psychology helped. Learning the motivation behind the action allowed me to understand and ultimately manipulate people and their perceptions of me. Case in point, Craig won’t talk to me again because he thinks I’m a bit-

“Ms. Y/L/N.” Dr. Borisov interrupted my thoughts. I blinked at him. “Nice to see you again,” he said. I nodded my head in recognition. 

“Let’s get started, shall we?” He made his way to the board and began going over the syllabus. A TA passed out paper copies. 

I paid little attention to the doctor as he went page by page over the information on the sheet in front of us. Information that was clear and concise and easily accessible and especially redundant. Adults capable of taking an advanced NMR spectroscopy class should be capable of reading a syllabus on their own time. 

When Dr. Borisov finished going over it, the class was already more than halfway over. He began his introductory presentation. 

I flipped open my notebook and began to take notes, more out of habit than necessity. My eidetic memory was much better than the average person’s. I could recall everything I’ve ever read. Taking in details of real-life was a little harder and a little less reliable, but practicing helped. 

Something out of the corner of my eye caught my attention. Book boy- Spencer- was bouncing his leg under his desk. I turned back to the front, trying to pay attention, but now that I knew a distraction was present, I couldn’t block it out. 

After Dr. Borisov presented two more slides, Spencer began tapping his pen. My head dropped to my desk and I sighed. Craig peeked over at me, and I shot him a glare. 

I had to say something. I couldn’t take it anymore.

“Excuse me?” I whispered across the aisle. Spencer looked up at me, eyes wide, leg still bouncing and pen still tapping. “Can you stop?”

He blinked, seeming to weigh my words. Then the pen stopped. He faced forward. 

I sighed. “The leg too?” I whispered.

His eyes darted to mine, an utterly neutral expression on his face. Was he angry? Annoyed? Upset? There were no expressions to read, not even ones of the micro variety. Just a blank slate. Is this how Craig had felt when I talked to him earlier? I’d never met anyone with as much control over their expressions as I had over mine. 

His leg stopped and he faced the front again. 

My brows furrowed as I continued taking notes distraction-free. 

The rest of class passed uneventfully, save for a few unwanted stares from Craig, each met with another glare. 

I quickly shoved my belongings into my bag and walked up to speak with Dr. Borisov.

“Ah! Y/N! It’s good to see you again.” He closed his laptop, shutting off the overhead projector.

I smiled and said, “It’s good to see you too, sir. I much prefer your teaching over the other chemistry professors.”

He chuckled. “You’re just saying that because I let you work by yourself on all of your projects.” 

I let out a small laugh. “You’d be correct.”

His eyes lit up as they caught something behind me. 

“Ah, Mr. Reid! Glad you could join us this semester.” Dr. Borisov gestured grandly. 

I turned and found myself staring at the ever blank face of Spencer Reid. 

“Doctor,” was his only response. 

“Yes?” Dr. Borisov asked, clearly thinking Spencer was addressing him. I wasn’t so sure.

“It’s Doctor Reid,” he replied.

Dr. Borisov’s eyes twinkled as he nodded, clearly not upset at this correction. “My apologies, Dr. Reid.”

Spencer nodded. “I wanted to ask about the term project. You said it was a group project. I was hoping I would be able to do it alone.”

The professor took a moment to think, humming slightly as he did. 

“No.”

I bit my lip to keep from letting out a laugh. Spencer’s eyes got wide. He does that a lot. 

“Now that I think about it Ms. Y/L/N, you won’t be exempt from the group projects this semester either,” Dr. Borisov continued.

Now it was my turn for my eyes to widen. 

“What? Why? You know that every time I work in a group, I end up doing all-”

“Ahah! But now, you’ve got someone who will do the work with you.” Dr. Borisov gestured at Spencer.

I scoffed. “How do I know he’ll actually pull his weight?”

Dr. Borisov smiled cheekily. “I think you’ll find you two have more in common than you think.”

I turned to Spencer who was staring at the floor. “Give me your phone number, so we can figure out how this is going to work,” I said bluntly.

Spencer shifted, obviously uncomfortable, but I was too impatient to force any false kindness. 

“I don’t have a phone,” he said hesitantly meeting my gaze. 

I scoffed again. “Dr. Borisov, how am I supposed to work on this project with him if I can’t even contact him?”

Dr. Borisov was looking much too pleased with himself as he said, “You’re both adults. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.” He gathered up his bag and left the room.

I stood there gaping. I was used to his light teasing, but this was another level altogether. 

I turned back to Spencer. “Do you have an email?”

“Of course I have an email. You need one to sign up for classes.”

“Well, I didn’t want to assume since cellphone usage is more common than email,” I said.

“Aren’t you going to get out paper for me to write out my email?” He asked.

“No, I’ll remember,” I said. 

His eyebrow quirked up. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” I snapped. “Just tell me.”

He muttered his email but remained standing in front of me.

“What are you waiting for? A dismissal?” I scowled. 

Spencer darted out of the room. 

This was going to be a long semester.


End file.
